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COMPOSED    BY 

MRS.   M.  J.   MEEHAN 


Copyrighted   1913, 
By  Mrs.    M.  J.   Mcehan 


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1 


ODE  TO  CALIFORNIA  IN  THE  HONOR  OF 
CALIFORNIA  LAND. 

California  most  beautiful, 

Bearer  of  all  things  good  and  true, 
No  other  country  teems  with  such  abundance, 

As  God  has  bestowed  on  you; 
You  have  nursed  upon  your  bosom, 

The  rugged  and  the  fine, 
And  made  them  dwell  in  harmony, 

Within  thy  broad  confine. 


Chorus — 
We  hail  thee  Miss  California, 

Worthy  daughter  of  a  Native  pride, 
A  land  where  all  can  reap  a  harvest, 
And  find  a  true  home  to  reside. 


With  them  they  brought  their  brawn  and  sinew, 

To  delve  and  work  your  mines, 
Whilst  some  of  a  different  nature, 

Sowed  the  vineyard  with  its  vine, 
And  the  golden  sheaves,  with  their  golden  grains, 

Nods  and  sways  with  the  winds, 
Saluting  the  vinter  yonder, 

As  he  prepares  to  make  his  wines. 
Chorus — • 


From  your  myriads  fields  of  industries, 

We  enrich  our  golden  store, 
And  the  World's  ships  are  in  our  harbors, 

To   buy   our    surplus    o'er; 
Your  precious  mines  have  never  ceased, 

From  the  caverns  of  the  earth, 
To  reward  the  miner  for  his  toil, 

Of  their  wealth  there  is  no  dearth. 
Chorus — • 

280158 


With  all  your  various  and  mutual  resources, 

You  have  drawn  a  motley  crew, 
And  whatever  they  have  planted, 

You  sustained  it  till  it  grew; 
Your  ideal  urban  homes,  magnificent  cities, 

Proudly  do  they  proclaim, 
That  all  have  prospered  beyond  surmise, 

And  were  happy  to  remain. 
Chorus — 

They  brought  the  olive  and  the  citrus  fruit, 

And  found  in  thee  a  zone, 
To  propagate  and  cultivate, 

The  seed  they  brought  from  home, 
Till  all  your  lands  from  North  to  South, 

Have  myriads  of  orchards  grand, 
As  well  as  the  fruits  of  the  citrus  belt, 

You  have  the  fruits  of  every  known  land. 
Chorus — 

You  are  a  land  of  a  perfumed  breeze, 

Inhaling  scents  from  your  wealth   of  flowers, 
You  are  the  land  of  giant  trees, 

Yosemite  in  her  bridal  veil  embowered; 
You  are  a  land  of  opportunities, 

Many  genius  will  you  claim, 
You  are  a  land  of  opulence 

Of  a  vast  and  wide  domain, 
Chorus — 

Your  crowning  glory  are  thy  beautiful  offspring, 

Born,  bred,  and  nurtured  by  thee, 
Brought  up  in  an  inspiring  atmosphere 

They  would  die  or  not  be  free; 
No  nobler  men  or  women 

A  land  has  never  yet  produced, 
They  do  honor  and  give  credit 

Wherever   they  are   introduced. 
Chorus — 


RICHMOND   SUBURB   IN   SAN   FRANCISCO 

When  Richmonds  calcium  lights  are   flickering, 

We  meander  for  a  walk, 

And  sniff  a  breeze   of  briny  ozone, 

As  on  our  paths  we  stalk, 

From  Arguello,  to  the  Ocean, 

From  Presidio,  to  the  Golden  Gate, 

There  is  not  such  another  beauty  spot, 

For  homes  throughout  our  state. 

Your    boundaries    with    their   prospective    views, 

Of  Ocean,  and  scenic  Marin, 

Are  claimed  by  the  most  fastidious, 

To   build  homes,   to   dwell   within. 

Your  proximity  to  our  World's  famed  park 

With  nearness  of   Reservation; 

Having  two  such  noted  sight  seeing  spots, 

You  have  climbed  to  an  elevation. 

Sutro  Heights  in  its  palmy  days 

Was  a  sight  to  behold, 

Where  all  have  basked  in  its  sunny  rays, 

Sheltered  from  the  Ocean's  cold, 

Planted  by  the  hand  of  a  noble  soul, 

To  enjoy  its  beauties,  he  enacted  no  toll, 

As  its  foliage  moans  a  requiem  prayer; 

Its  leaves  dropping  as  a  funeral  pall, 

As  the  mist  from  the  Ocean, 

In   sad  tears  fall 

O'er  the  graves  of  him,  who  bedecked  this  spot, 

And  the  memory  of  this  generous  Sutro, 

Should  not  be  soon  forgot. 

Jordan  Park  now  famous, 

For  wealth  and  beauties  abode; 

As  the  city  of  the  dead  looks  down 

From  its  beds  of  still  repose, 

Does  it  favor  thee,  more  benignly, 

Than  it  favored  the  race  course  track, 

Where  the  jockeys  and  their  racers, 


At  the   sound   of  the  judges  gong, 

Would  race  a  mile  a  minute, 

Till   the   judge   would   call   them   back. 

Those  were  the  days  of  the  Comstock 

When  the   Mackeys,   Floods   and   O'Briens 

Struck  it  rich  in  Nevada 

As  it  belched  the  gold  from  the  mines; 

With  Stanford,  Ralston,  Dunphy  and  Fair, 

And  every  one  of  prominence  were  sure  to  be  there. 

When  the  races  were  finished  on  the  track, 

Out  to  the  Cliff  House  all  would  pack, 

And  those  who  bet  a  losing  game, 

Their  hilarity  would  not  be  a  whit  more  tame, 

Those   were   the   times   when   goodfellowship   reigned 

And  the  loser  was  treated  as  royally 

As  if  he  had  a  flush  in  the  game. 

But  the  old   Cliff  House   is  gone, 

And  another  has  taken  its  place, 

And   the   Cliff   House   Road 

You  can  find  no  more, 

It  is  lost  in  a  wondrous  maze 

Of  streets  and  magnificent  buildings, 

Bordering  on  each  side, 

And  automobiles,  and  street  cars 

Are  the  conveyance  of  those  who  ride. 


THE   SIERRA  RANGE. 

Round    in    area,    reaching    far, 

Of  mountainous  range,  you  are  the  star, 
As  Sierra's  Peaks  we  in  wonder  view, 
Translucent  in  their  veil  of  blue, 
In  the  changing  light  of  an  opal  hue, 

Thou  art  a  mountain  magnificent 
Through   and   through. 


Mount  Shasta  and  Whitney,  sister  peaks, 
As  vigilant  watch  guards,  they  ever  keep 

A  sharp  look  out  that  they  may  detect, 
The  least  disturbance,  that  might  mar  the  rest 
Of  their  spoilt  child, 

In  this  far  out  West; 

And  daughter  California,  is  proud  always 
To  honor  them,  as  father,  to  love  and  obey. 

And  those,  who  enter  at  her  Northern  Gate, 
Are   struck   by  awe,   as   they   contemplate 

Sierra's  forests  of  pine  and  dale, 

Her  magnificent  grandeur  of  hill  and  vale. 
The  tongue  uttereth  not  a  sound 
The  heart's  feelings  are  too  profound, 

As  the  eye  beholds  this  mountain  grand, 

A  scenic  beauty,  of  Nature's  hand. 

We  gaze  and  wonder  in  mute  surprise, 

Hard  is  the  heart  which  does  not  surmise 

The  existence  of  a  Deity  wise. 

No  landscape  gardening  can  man  devise, 

As  we  find  in  Sierra  diversified; 
Traversed  thousands  of  miles  of  beautiful  scenes, 
But  thy  columns  of  pine,  in  their  shaded  greens 
Was  the  grandest  picture,  on  Nature's  screens. 

ODE  TO  MARIN. 

Dedicated  to  Congressman  Wm.   Kent  and  Mother 

Beautiful    Switzerland    of    America, 
Is  what  thou  seem'st  to  me, 
Scenic    mountainous    Marin, 
And  Tamalpais  by  the  Sea. 
With  its  Muir  Woods, 
Bordering,  with  ferny  maiden-hair, 
Forming    lovely    bowers, 
To    pass    fleeting    hours, 
As  lovers   walk   in  pairs. 


The  deer  and  fawn 

From   morning   till   dawn, 

Gambol  in  your  glades; 

While  wild  birds   sing, 

And   mate,   in    thy   wooded    shades, 

The  mountain  lions,  in  sequestered  nook, 

In   quest   of  prey,   he   runs   amuck, 

Of  rifle   shot,  at  the  sportsman's  crack, 

A  hunter's  trophy  he  pursues, 

A  lion's  carcass  he  brings  back. 


The  wild  flowers  vie,  the  air  to  scent, 

Delighting  the  eyes  of  Congressman  Kent. 

He,  and  his   good  mother,   so   generously  gave, 

A  magnanimous  bounty,  that  they  might  save 

This   natural   park,   of   their   beautiful   domain, 

To  the  people  at  large,  that  it  might  remain, 

A  thing  of  beauty,   of   Nature   rare, 

It  is    unsurpassed   in   loveliness    fair; 

And  thy  costly  stadium,  for  frolic  and  mirth, 

I  fear  we  don't  value  them,  one-half  their  worth. 


Vast  acres,  of  an  agricultural  wealth 

Are   disappearing,    as    if   by    stealth. 

On   every   side   a   progress   looms, 

As  Urban  homes  spring  as  mushrooms, 

Forming   a   chain   of   beautiful   towns, 

As  Summer  resorts,  they  are  far  renowned. 

From    thy   Eucalyptus    groves,    embowered, 

The   City  claims  their  busy  hours, 

But  as  night  is  on,  at  evening's  close, 

They  sleep  with  thee  in  sweet  repose. 


PORTOLA-PANAMA    PACIFIC    ODE— 1913 


When  Columbus  hesought  Queen  Isabel 

To  fit  out  an  expedition, 

He  had  a  vision  strange  and  vague, 

A  kind  of  a  superstition 

That  away,  across  the  billowy  waters, 

There  was  a  voice  appealing, 

Beckoning  him  to  sail  onward, 

Beyond  the   horizon's   clearing, 

Where  he  could  find  an  unknown  passage 

The  vagueness  of  his  perception  clouded  as  to  place, 

Little  dreamed  he  of  the  discovery 

Of  a  New  World  and  a  new  race. 

A  home,  a  haven,  for  all  distressed, 

A  sunny  vale  of  peace  and  rest, 

Where  all  could  dwell  in  mutual  love, 

Where  weak  ones  would  not  be  shoved; 

No   grasping   avarice   and   greed, 

Equality  and  justice  alone  our  creed, 

With  the   Cross  and  the   Crown  of   Him  above, 

To  soften  the  wounds  of  those  he  loved. 

With  a  tumult  of  hope  and  fear,  he  set  sail, 

Fitted  out  by  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain, 

O'er  the  trackless  desert  of  a  watery  main, 

Bold  and  courageous  he  carried  his  aim; 

Though  Sage,  Poet,  King  and  people  as  well, 

Against  his   project,  they  all  did  rebel. 

He  prayed  for  safety  in  his  venturesome  task, 

And  some  worldly  treasures,  of  His   Father,  he  asked, 

To    recompense    his    benefactors,    who    so    unselfishly 

In  the  cause  of  his  goal, 

Though  it  seemed  but  the  wildest  dream, 

Gave  ships  and  subjects,  gold  and  store 

To  this  honored  hero,  that  he  might  explore. 

After  weeks  of  buffeting,  tedious  sail, 

The  sight  of  this  new  land 

Did  their  hearts  regale, 


8 

With  a  frenzy  ecstacy  of  a  joy  complete, 

As   they   accomplished   their   daring   feat, 

Landing,  they  knelt  on  the  ground, 

Blessing  in  the   Name   of   God  the   Father  of   Kings, 

Whilst  their  prayers  and  thanksgiving  in  unison  Vings. 

Now  they  unfurl,  and  float  to  the  breeze, 

The  Ensign  and  Flag  of  their  dear  native  land 

Which  was  destined  to  stand,  as  a  milestone, 

Directing  to  that  Western  Shoal, 

Where  all  have  found  food  for  body  and  soul. 

They  explored  surroundings,  traversed  hill   and  vale, 

Their  mission  ended — homeward  bound  did  they  sail, 

To  be  feted  by  kings  and  people  alike, 

Not  aware  that  their  discovery  was  only  a  trite, 

Of  the  discoveries  which  would  be  made, 

And  the  pages  of  history  they  would  write 

Of  this  world  which  they  just  only  scanned. 

Many  daring  spirits  followed  in  their  wake, 

With  ships  well-supplied,  and  well-manned, 

First  came  the  undaunted  and  bold   Balboa, 

Who  discovered  the  great  Pacific   Ocean, 

Wading  out,  he  planted  the  flag  of  Spain, 

Taking  possession  of  all  the  land 

Bordering  on  this  vast  watery  main. 

Four  hundred  years  hence,  did  he  for  a  moment  surmise, 

As  he  gazed  on  this  mighty  ocean,  with  awe  and  surprise, 

That  man  would  those  huge  mountains  hew, 

Boring  a  passage  through, 

Until  those  Oceans  wide 

With  East  and  West  tide 

Mingled  their  waters  blue. 

What  a  tribute  of  homage  we  discern, 

God  allots  to  man,  that  he  may  earn, 

The   reward   of   talents   bestowed  by   Him; 

Wonderfully  creating  and  befitting  man, 

That  he  might  instill  not  alone 

His  Image,  but  his  Great  Creator's  skill. 

Ah!  well  it  might  be  wise  to  ponder  here, 

And  ask  a  question  fraught  with  fear, 


If  as  mind  develops  beyond  matter 

Are  we  to  proclaim  with  presumptuous  clatter 

As  we  ring  from  Nature  her  secret  knowledge 

Should  it  tend  to  Atheism,  and  minds  inclined 

To  rant,  wrangle  and  abuse, 

The  Sacred  Laws  of  God  to  man; 

That  old  proverb,  or  Shakespeare's  adage 

Commit  to  memory,  that  you  may  have  it, 

A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing, 

Drink  deep  or  taste  not  the  Pyrian  Spring, 

He  who  studies  till  he  finds  the  Philosopher's  stone, 

He  neither  fumes   or  picks  a   bone! 

Let  no  man  preach  and  think  he  is  right, 

Until  he  sees  with  a  Philosopher's  sight 

For  he  sees  matter  from  every  side, 

And    conclusions    drawn   are   generally   right. 

As  the  pages  of  history  turns  a  century  o'er, 

Sir  Francis  Drake  visits  our  shore, 

He  sails  past  our  Golden  Gate, 

The  mist  clouds   hanging  as  portiers   wide, 

Reaching  shore  from  side  to  side; 

Ah!    well  it  was  a  lucky  fate, 

As  we  would  not  want  our  bay  called  Drake. 

The  wild  poppies  dazzling  in  gold, 

Banked  the   side  of  our  Golden   Gate, 

Welcoming  Don   Caspar   Portola 

In  to  harbor  and  state; 

Reserving  for  him,  in  one  hundred  years, 

To  discover  our  beautiful   Bay; 

As  his  eye  ranged  its  compass 

He  was  filled  with  wondrous  dismay, 

As  he  dreamed  a  dream,  fulfilled  today. 

No  need  in  this   garden  to  toil  in  strife, 

To    earn    enough    to    sustain    life, 

No  need  to  save  with  grasping  greed 

Things  that  should  be  scattered  as  useful  seed, 

Letting  all  reap  whatever  is  sown, 

As  on  their  path  of  life  they  are  going, 

A  proud  land  of  equal   rights, 


10 

Reserved  by  honor   and  not  by   fights. 

Hordes  shall  come  from  North,  South,  East  and  West, 

And  find  in  thee,  a  land  of  peaceful  rest; 

A  land  great  enough  all  to  enfold, 

And  thdugh  they  were  tempted,  by  the  sheen  of  your  gold, 

It  was  only  the  lure,  the  cause  to  effect, 

The  solution  of  this  problem  fair  and  correct, 

This   fair   land   has   proven   this   degree, 

That  all  men   here   are  equal  and  free. 

We  also  find  in  this  land  of  the  West, 

Products   bounteous,   as   all   the   rest; 

A  country  of  an  area  wide, 

Prolific    in    bearing    beyond    surmise; 

A  genial  climate  exhaling  a  healthful  glow 

Over   body   and    spirit,    where'er    you    go; 

A  gladness  of  heart,  born  of  its  sunny  sky, 

No  need  to  erect  Churches  to  God  on  High, 

For  here   He  has   sculptured   in   Nature's   deep   forests, 

Something,  to  touch  the  heart  of  the  narrowest; 

For  should  not  one  spark  of  Spirituality  illume. 

A  soul  so  dead  as  the  vaults  of  a  tomb; 

Let   them   open  their  eyes,   to   gaze   on   their  splendor, 

Homage  and  adoration   to  God,  will   they  render, 

And  here  on  the  verge  of  this  beautiful  harbor, 

Where  Don  Gaspar   Portola  landed  with  cargo; 

We  are  now  ready  to  welcome  him,  with  eclat, 

Into   this   wonderful    City   of   this   vast   State; 

Everything    is    thrown    open    wide, 

We  have  selected  a  queen,  to  be  his  bride; 

With  a  pageant  of  gorgeousness  to  herald  his  coming, 

With  song  and  music  the  air  is  a-humming, 

We  present  him,  with  the  key,  of  our   City, 

That  he  may  enter  in,  and  partake, 

Of   all   the   good   things    of   this  land. 

A  boundless  hospitality  our  people  have  installed, 

And  will   dispense   with   lavish    hand, 

As   they   welcome   one   and   all. 

Blessed,  honored,  beloved  San  Francisco, 

Queen  City  of  the  Pacific  pride, 


11 


Lovingly  are  thou,  chosen 
As  a  fitting  place  to  reside. 
Tourists  by  the  thousands, 
No   matter   where   they   stray, 
Keep   a  warm  place  in  their  hearts, 
To  come  back  to  you  some  day. 
Of  all  our  Nation's  great  cities, 
Whether    East    or   West, 
You   have   nobly   out-stripped   them    all, 
You   have   done  it  with   a   zest. 
That  is  wonderfully  magnetic, 
Which  has  made  you,  a  guiding  star, 
All  nations  pay  you  homage 
Though  they  see  you  from  afar; 
Your   indomitable   pluck   and   courage 
Was  born  of  a  race, 

Who    had    true   adventuresome    spirit, 

No  dangers  they  would  not  face, 

And  nobly  did  they  show  it 

When    their   beloved    City    laid    a    charred    waste. 

They  forgot  self  loss  and  sufferings, 

In  working  to  erase 

The  destructive  havoc  wrought  upon  it 

By   earthquake,   flame   and   fire, 

It  would  warp  the  souls  of  most  men, 

To   face    such    disastrous    dire, 

But  buckling  on  their  harness 

Setting  manly  to  labor, 

Made   the   goal  of  their  work, 

Be  San  Francisco  Savior. 

They  have   raised  from   out   its   ashes 

A  City,  more  beautiful  than  before, 

And  the  world  is  mystified 

As   it  ponders   o'er, 

How  so  much  were  accomplished 

In   a   short   duration   of  time, 

It  is  now  that  you  must  speak, 

It  is  hidden  from  .me  and  mine, 

What  forces  were  behind  you, 


12 


They  must  have  been  divine. 

And    San    Francisco    does    speak    up 

Saying  that  the  world  must  listen 

For  she  has  a  lesson  to  teach, 

As  she  tells  how  she  has  risen, 

We   were   planning   and   creating, 

Weaving  in  our  minds, 

E'en  while   we   were  hungry 

Standing  in  bread  lines, 

Growing  fonder  in  one  brotherhood 

With  the  equality  of  man  impressed, 

For  sheep  we  are  of  one  fold 

When  we   are   equally  distressed; 

Let  us   not   forget   it  too   soon, 

For  fear  that  in  our  pride 

We  might   grow  arrogant   and  bold, 

And  try  to  over-ride, 

Loosing   much   praises   told; 

And  the  love  we  proved  most  true, 

Wrangle  not  wise  hearts 

We  want  it  to  remain 

For  we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude 

To    the   whole    wide    world's    domain, 

Let  all  find  here  a  safety  harbor, 

As   they   enter  her   Golden   Gate 

Let   this  be   the   Western    Mecca, 

To  come  and  assimilate; 

There  is  ever  little  danger, 

Of  the  good  and  virtuous  true, 

Being   swallowed   up    and   devoured 

By  the  jaws  of  a  bugaboo. 

And  no  matter  how  man  rates  it 

God   has   devised  ahead   of   you, 

If  He  desires  a  new  order  of  things 

His  Hand  is  in  the  plan, 

The   survival  of  the  fittest 

Has  been  His  rule  as  God  to  man; 

And  those  who  have  gained  supremacy. 

Lost  out  by  their  own  ills, 


13 


We  are  told  it  in  the  Book  of  Books 

And  its  proverbs  have  proved  most  true. 

That  before  we  sleep  in  peace,  on   earth 

To  be  of  one  fold  is  due; 

Then    trust    in    God's    completeness 

And   our   wants   we   will   allay, 

No  need  to  serve  the  god  of  gold, 

Which  clothes  the  soul, 

In  a  cloak  so  cold, 

Leaving  half  the  world  to  freeze, 

That   some   may   wallow  in   their   greed. 

We  have  built  a  magnificent  City, 

So  stately,  and  so  grand, 

Be  careful  that  we  keep  it,  on  a  solid  base, 

By  the  observing  of  God's  laws, 

Respect  for  Creed  and  Race, 

Whilst   we   protect   our    own    interests, 

Let  Justice  reign  in  sight, 

And   let   all   our   statesmen   adhere 

To    it   with   all   their   might; 

Then  we  can  have  friendly  intercourse, 

We   can  legislate   and  arbitrate, 

If  each  is  doing  just  right, 

And    do    away    with    warfare — 

Civilized  nations   should  be  ashamed  to  fight. 

Now   that  we   are   resurrected  from   our   chaos, 

We   stand   with   open  arms, 

To  welcome  all  within,  none  may  feel  alarm 

As   your   bounty   sent   us   in   distress, 

And  in  our  hour  of  need, 

You  can  send  us  now  your  precious  wares, 

And  we  shall  all  indeed, 

Assume   their   care  and  value   them, 

As  the  rarest  of  our  own  land, 

And  may  they  form  a  union, 

As  amongst  them  we  stand, 

Enchanting   lessons    in   man's    handicraft, 

The  wisdom  of  poet  and  sage, 

Not  in   their  wildest   dream   or  fancy, 


14 


Was  ever  yet  presaged. 

Specimens  of  God's   Creation, 

With  the  rarest  art  of  man, 

Heaped  upon  our  wharfs, 

What   an   achievement   we   have   planned, 

For  you  our  well-beloved   City, 

As    tears   well    to    our    eyes, 

For  we  doth  feel  your  honor, 

Which   lauds   you   to   the    skies. 

To  be  chosen  by  the  people, 

Of  our  own   United  States, 

To    represent    the    Nation, 

As  it  opens  its  Panama  Gates; 

To  wear  the  regal  crown, 

To  welcome   to   our  State, 

The  whole  World  at  large, 

To    enter  our   Golden  Gate, 

That  they  may  come  and  join, 

And  send  their  treasures  thither, 

May  our  friendships  formed,  be  as  our  flowers, 

Which  never  die  or  wither, 

May   our   pleasures   be   discreet   and   calm, 

As  gliding  rippling  rivers, 

May  our  hospitalities   be   dispensed, 

As  free  and  cheerful  givers, 

May  our  World's  Fair 

Form  a  boom,  as  lasting  as  the  Sun, 

To   our  beloved   State   and   Nation, 

As  on  their  course  they  run. 


14 
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r;    11,    1914. 


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pe:  1>./ 


YC   14581 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


